It was reported that her ladyship's English maid had left her,
before the disappearance of Ferrari, to return to her relatives in her

own country, and that Lady Montbarry had taken no steps to supply
her place. His lordship was described as being in delicate health.

He lived in the strictest retirement--nobody was admitted to him,
not even his own countrymen. A stupid old woman was discovered

who did the housework at the palace, arriving in the morning and
going away again at night. She had never seen the lost courier--

she had never even seen Lord Montbarry, who was then confined
to his room. Her ladyship, 'a most gracious and adorable mistress,'

was in constant attendance on her noble husband. There was no
other servant then in the house (so far as the old woman knew)

but herself. The meals were sent in from a restaurant. My lord,
it was said, disliked strangers. My lord's brother-in-law, the Baron,

was generally shut up in a remote part of the palace, occupied
(the graciousmistress said) with experiments in chemistry.

The experiments sometimes made a nasty smell. A doctor had latterly been
called in to his lordship--an Italian doctor, long resident in Venice.

Inquiries being addressed to this gentleman (a physician of undoubted
capacity and respectability), it turned out that he also had never

seen Ferrari, having been summoned to the palace (as his memorandum
book showed) at a date subsequent to the courier's disappearance.

The doctor described Lord Montbarry's malady as bronchitis.
So far, there was no reason to feel any anxiety, though the

attack was a sharp one. If alarming symptoms should appear,
he had arranged with her ladyship to call in another physician.

For the rest, it was impossible to speak too highly of my lady;
night and day, she was at her lord's bedside.

With these particulars began and ended the discoveries made by Ferrari's
courier-friend. The police were on the look-out for the lost man--

and that was the only hope which could be held forth for the present,
to Ferrari's wife.

'What do you think of it, Miss?' the poor woman asked eagerly.
'What would you advise me to do?'

Agnes was at a loss how to answer her; it was an effort even to
listen to what Emily was saying. The references in the courier's

letter to Montbarry--the report of his illness, the melancholy
picture of his secluded life--had reopened the old wound.

She was not even thinking of the lost Ferrari; her mind was at Venice,
by the sick man's bedside.

'I hardly know what to say,' she answered. 'I have had no experience
in serious matters of this kind.'

'Do you think it would help you, Miss, if you read my husband's
letters to me? There are only three of them--they won't take long

to read.'
Agnes compassionately read the letters.

They were not written in a very tender tone. 'Dear Emily,'
and 'Yours affectionately'--these conventional phrases,

were the only phrases of endearment which they contained.
In the first letter, Lord Montbarry was not very favourably spoken

of:--'We leave Paris to-morrow. I don't much like my lord.
He is proud and cold, and, between ourselves, stingy in money matters.

I have had to dispute such trifles as a few centimes in the hotel bill;
and twice already, some sharp remarks have passed between

the newly-married couple, in consequence of her ladyship's freedom
in purchasing pretty tempting things at the shops in Paris.

"I can't afford it; you must keep to your allowance." She has had to
hear those words already. For my part, I like her. She has the nice,

easy foreign manners--she talks to me as if I was a human being
like herself.'

The second letter was dated from Rome.
'My lord's caprices' (Ferrari wrote) 'have kept us perpetually

on the move. He is becoming incurably restless. I suspect he is
uneasy in his mind. Painful recollections, I should say--I find him

constantly reading old letters, when her ladyship is not present.
We were to have stopped at Genoa, but he hurried us on. The same

thing at Florence. Here, at Rome, my lady insists on resting.
Her brother has met us at this place. There has been a quarrel already

(the lady's maid tells me) between my lord and the Baron. The latter
wanted to borrow money of the former. His lordship refused in language

which offended Baron Rivar. My lady pacified them, and made them
shake hands.'

The third, and last letter, was from Venice.
'More of my lord's economy! Instead of staying at the hotel,

we have hired a damp, mouldy, rambling old palace. My lady insists
on having the best suites of rooms wherever we go--and the palace

comes cheaper for a two months' term. My lord tried to get it
for longer; he says the quiet of Venice is good for his nerves.

But a foreign speculator has secured the palace, and is going to turn
it into an hotel. The Baron is still with us, and there have been

more disagreements about money matters. I don't like the Baron--
and I don't find the attractions of my lady grow on me. She was much

nicer before the Baron joined us. My lord is a punctual paymaster;
it's a matter of honour with him; he hates parting with his money,

but he does it because he has given his word. I receive my salary
regularly at the end of each month--not a franc extra, though I

have done many things which are not part of a courier's proper work.
Fancy the Baron trying to borrow money of me! he is an inveterate gambler.

I didn't believe it when my lady's maid first told me so--
but I have seen enough since to satisfy me that she was right.

I have seen other things besides, which--well! which don't increase
my respect for my lady and the Baron. The maid says she means to give

warning to leave. She is a respectable British female, and doesn't
take things quite so easily as I do. It is a dull life here.

No going into company--no company at home--not a creature sees my lord--
not even the consul, or the banker. When he goes out, he goes alone,

and generally towards nightfall. Indoors, he shuts himself up
in his own room with his books, and sees as little of his wife and

the Baron as possible. I fancy things are coming to a crisis here.
If my lord's suspicions are once awakened, the consequences will

be terrible. Under certain provocations, the noble Montbarry
is a man who would stick at nothing. However, the pay is good--

and I can't afford to talk of leaving the place, like my lady's
maid.'

Agnes handed back the letters--so suggestive of the penalty paid
already for his own infatuation by the man who had deserted her!--

with feelings of shame and distress, which made her no fit counsellor
for the helpless woman who depended on her advice.

'The one thing I can suggest,' she said, after first speaking some
kind words of comfort and hope, 'is that we should consult a person

of greater experience than ours. Suppose I write and ask my lawyer
(who is also my friend and trustee) to come and advise us to-morrow

after his business hours?'
Emily eagerly and gratefully accepted the suggestion. An hour

was arranged for the meeting on the next day; the correspondence
was left under the care of Agnes; and the courier's wife took her leave.

Weary and heartsick, Agnes lay down on the sofa, to rest and
compose herself. The careful nurse brought in a reviving cup of tea.

Her quaintgossip about herself and her occupations while Agnes had
been away, acted as a relief to her mistress's overburdened mind.

They were still talking quietly, when they were startled by a loud
knock at the house door. Hurried footsteps ascended the stairs.

The door of the sitting-room was thrown open violently;
the courier's wife rushed in like a mad woman. 'He's dead!

They've murdered him!' Those wild words were all she could say.
She dropped on her knees at the foot of the sofa--held out her hand

with something clasped in it--and fell back in a swoon.
The nurse, signing to Agnes to open the window, took the necessary

measures to restore the fainting woman. 'What's this?' she exclaimed.
'Here's a letter in her hand. See what it is, Miss.'